


The Boy with the Pearl-Handled Paintbrush

by shieldmaiden_of_celestial_intent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Apprentice Dean Winchester, Art, Artist Castiel, Birthday Presents, Destiel - Freeform, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Improvised Sex Toys, Light Dom/sub, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Nude Modeling, Oral Sex, Painting, Painting Kink, Porn with Feelings, References to Greek Myth, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Smut, Teasing, pining!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3605943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shieldmaiden_of_celestial_intent/pseuds/shieldmaiden_of_celestial_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the 1600s in Vienna, this is a love story between the handsome but lonely artist Castiel and his gifted apprentice Dean Winchester. What begins as a 20th birthday gift in honor of the completion of the apprenticeship contract leads to love confessions and the consummation of their long-hidden passion for each other. The chapters that follow the first scenes will revolve around the theme of each painting they are working on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. I'm not sure how long I'm going to make this one but I won't leave major cliffhangers between updates. I'm not an expert in art history so forgive me if I improvise some of the details. The title is a nod to the story The Girl With the Pearl Earring but it does not have much in common with it other than that. 
> 
> Subscribe to this fic for new chapter updates :)

Dean stood nervously in his new finery. He waited for his master's imminent return with nothing better to do than muse over the events of the past few years. Dean was completely unaware of the way the rich, emerald-colored velvet made his eyes stand out like polished jade. This detail would be noted only by the kind eyes of his master, the man who had given Dean his new attire that morning for his 20th birthday. His master had asked Dean to try the clothes on and discreetly left him alone to change.

Dean's master was the great artist known only as Castiel. Dean thought the mysterious name looked beautiful on canvas when Castiel signed his finished paintings with a flourish. Dean had never actually spoken that name aloud to anyone else in all the years leading up to this moment, although his heart whispered it often. When Dean spoke with others on his errands he referred to Castiel only as "my Master."

This was out of idolization and decorum, as Castiel had never given Dean the slightest reason to fear him in the years since they had first met. On the contrary, Dean had grown to love his master very much. Castiel was famous throughout the township for his opulent and elegant work so Dean rarely had to announce himself on his errands. He was known throughout town simply as The Artist's Apprentice.

Dean had come to think of the great artist Castiel as the angel who had saved him from a life of drudgery and brutality. Sometimes while he helped his master with ostentatious religious works of countless beautiful angels commissioned by the Church, Dean imagined Castiel unfurling glorious wings and soaring across the Heavens before swooping down to ravish him and keep him forever as his paramour. Even the best students have their weak moments.

During wakeful nights Dean lay alone in the darkness and pined for his enigmatic, beautiful master. Each morning he woke dreading the ever-approaching day that his apprenticeship contract would end  and they would be parted. Years passed, but Dean's pure-hearted devotion never wavered.

Castiel had hand-picked Dean from among the most promising youths of the township. After a test of simple tasks and a few questions which tested his logic and capacity for abstract thought, Dean was invited to spend the day with Castiel. At the time Dean had not quite understood the full significance of comparing, sorting, and describing the pigments which were at the heart of the artist's trade but he demonstrated an exceptional aptitude. Dean also demonstrated the ability to see and identify subtle differences in color, a trait which not all young men possessed.

Dean quickly proved to Castiel that he had the intelligence to learn the myriad of color pigments and call them by their proper names. Their first conversation lasted the entire day, and Castiel realized that Dean also had the emotional and existential awareness to understand the deeper meaning behind a painting. These traits alone would have been enough to set him ahead of the others, but it was Dean's eagerness to please the great artist that had moved Castiel's heart.

Castiel had finally found a young man eager to learn, who craved the knowledge that Castiel longed to share. Dean beamed when he was praised and tried harder when he faltered. Castiel's gentle encouragement was enough to make Dean strive to excel and it was this that made him the perfect apprentice. Castiel did not interview any other young men after the day they met. Dean was invited to move in to Castiel's beautifully furnished studio the very next day. 

Dean had struggled with his father's harshness all his young life. Although he dutifully loved his father there was no tenderness between them. In truth, Dean was terrified of his own father. Still, he always placed himself in the path of his father's drunken anger to divert it away from his younger brother Sammy.

Dean's father was the Head Executioner at the King's command, but before that the family trade had long been blacksmithery. It was a hard life of heat and exertion so naturally Dean had been eager for a chance at a gentler life. Much more than that, Dean wanted to escape becoming cold and angry like John.

Dean was no stranger to a hard day's work, but it was the thought of being pushed into his father's new trade that made Dean's skin crawl. Dean was strong and brave but not cruel. He did not want to slaughter people for a living.

Dean's father had once been called 'John the Blacksmith' although the family name was Winchester. John seemed so unperturbed by his new life of violence that the townsfolk shortened this name to 'John the Black' after he took up his dubious new trade. They whispered that John's heart had turned black and died along with Sam and Dean's mother Mary. Dean secretly agreed with them.

John often tried to explain to Dean that he was not really killing people, he was killing monsters. Murderers, rapists, evildoers, John said they all deserved to be punished. Dean's heart, however, had not died along with Mary. He remained unconvinced that the life his father led was truly worth it.

Dean had admired Castiel's kindness and wisdom from the very first. Although Dean served him happily, true adoration had not claimed his heart until the time came when Castiel had found a way to save his little brother Sammy. This seed of adoration later bloomed into Dean's overwhelming passion for Castiel.

Dean's little brother Samuel was a brilliant and sensitive boy, yet tough as nails forged from steel. Dean knew he deserved more than the life John could offer him. While Dean was still a new apprentice, he had not dared to ask his master if there was a chance to find Sammy a trade. Anything that would get him away from the drunken, heartless lessons of John.

Of course Dean knew that there was nothing wrong with being a blacksmith. The Winchester bloodline was revered as producing the finest metalwork available. Still, Dean knew that John would stifle the lad's natural kindness and make a killer out of Sam if he had more years of influence, so Dean prayed for a way out to appear. 

It was the third year of Dean's service when Castiel decided to accompany him to his former home at the Winchester forge, in a gesture of goodwill toward John. Castiel wanted to assure John that Dean had made the finest apprentice he could have chosen, just to make sure the arrangement lasted.

They had already spent many a long, happy day together. Castiel taught him new ideas and concepts while mixing colors. Dean listened while grinding pigments to fine powder or practicing new techniques. As Dean advanced in skill they would often paint together in comfortable silence; Castiel creating the foreground while Dean worked on the background figures. Neither could bear the thought of it coming to an end because of some misstep with the father.

Dean was eightteen by that time and Sammy had grown into a strong youth who was very tall for his age. After preliminary niceties with John at the main forge, Castiel walked over to join the two young men where Samuel was working on a custom wrought iron gate. Castiel parted his lips in silent awe, admiring the delicate polished filigree. It was finer than any he had seen before in his well-traveled life.

Castiel questioned the boy and asked if he might be able to do such delicate work in softer, finer metals. Samuel assured Castiel that he could reproduce this level of quality with any metal on any scale, saying he seemed to have a knack for it. Castiel approached John soon thereafter with his idea.

Some two weeks later, Samuel was the joyful new apprentice of the realm's finest jeweler and happily learning to create ornate gem settings in silver and gold. The jeweler, Robert Singer, had a gruff but caring temperament and extensive knowledge of esoteric folklore and alchemy. He had been searching far and wide for a lad talented and studious enough to take as his apprentice. Robert soon became like a second father to young Sam, who called him uncle Bobby.

It was soon after this time that Dean's admiration and gratitude toward the man he called master sparked and set his heart aflame. Perhaps the catalyst had been Castiel's wisdom and genuine kindness or perhaps it was his unique, otherworldly beauty. Dean could not be sure.

The emotional transformation was itself like some intense alchemical reaction which produced too much heat in Dean's heart. Night after night Dean dreamed about being loved by Castiel and never leaving his side. For the first time in his life, Dean Winchester was in love.

It was on this sequence of events that Dean mused now on his 20th birthday, dressed in green velvet with gold embroidery and tight little tan breeches. Dean had no idea that he looked so handsome that just looking at him would make his master's heart ache. Castiel had ordered the clothes from the tailor weeks ago, wanting to send his beloved protégé into the world looking like the fine artist he had become. 

Castiel's tailor knew Dean's measurements well, although he had grown taller and broader in the past few years. He now must lower his gaze slightly to look his master directly in the eyes. That was Dean's favorite thing to do; gaze into his master's eyes as he explained some obscure detail of the artist’s craft. Dean struggled to pay attention to every word even as he pondered whether that exquisite blue was more azure, cerulean, or ultramarine.

To Dean, Castiel himself seemed to be a living work of art as fine as the beautiful angels they painted for the wealthy buyers who came far and wide to commission Castiel's work. Although already an esteemed leader of his craft, Castiel was still a young man in his early 30's. His youth was due to the fact that he had been discovered as a child prodigy and made an apprentice many years earlier than Dean.

Castiel was a carpenter's son. He loved the outdoors and had always been fond of vigorous runs in the countryside. His skin was richly tanned and his muscles finely chiseled from his lingering enjoyment of exercise. The strong lines and gentle curves of his features were elegantly balanced and Dean held Castiel up as the paragon of all masculine beauty. In the decadent moments when Dean touched himself at night, he dreamed of being the painter while Castiel modeled nude for him as his own personal Adonis.

Dean was innocently unaware that he too had grown into an exquisite beauty, rivaling even the elegant masculinity of his master. He was also mournfully unaware that the master who he loved beyond all reason had been struggling with the intensity of his own fondness for Dean. Even Castiel, who always appeared somewhat reserved and distant, admired Dean's bright green eyes and found joy in his radiant smile.

The boy had always been charming with lovely features but Castiel had seen him as a pupil. Now that Dean was a grown man ready to choose his own path and destiny he seemed to have utterly transformed into something luminous and desirable. After Sam was apprenticed, Castiel had begun to see Dean differently. Their interactions seemed charged with something powerful. Castiel still would not have presumed that Dean might be interested, but there was something profound in the young man's eyes that could not be ignored.

There was something passionate about the young man's gaze, Castiel often found himself lost in it. Dean looked at him as if he was the love of his life and Castiel had begun to wonder if he could be right. Castiel longed to express his own change of heart, but he had never been very good with the subtleties of social interaction. He had no idea how to broach the subject of how dramatically his feelings had evolved.

Castiel fought hard against those feelings at first. Although it was not uncommon for relationships to flourish between artists and their associates, Castiel had no stomach for an imbalance of power. He needed a partner who was free to choose. The thought of sharing his bed with someone who secretly loathed him made him feel sick.

Castiel was ready to risk losing Dean rather than taking advantage of his young apprentice. The contract was up, an education for services rendered. Whatever Dean wanted to do next, Castiel would do his best to help him achieve it. If Castiel secretly longed to spend many more years with Dean, striving with paint to do justice to his constellation of freckles, well that was his own business.

Castiel finally entered the room where Dean had been waiting. Dean had been told to wait in the largest room of the house, reserved for working with live models and painting their largest works.

"Hello, Dean."

"Master" Dean's replied, coupled with a nod. For several moments they simply looked at each other, both dreading their parting which now seemed inevitable. 

Castiel paused to admire Dean in his new clothes. "Happy birthday Dean. You look very fine in your new things."

Dean tried to fight back the blush which threatened to reveal how flustered he was as he stood under his beloved's scrutiny.

"You've become such a handsome young man, sure to break as many hearts as you please." Castiel continued, somewhat wistfully.

Dean flushed a lovely pink with pleased embarrassment. "Thank you, Master."

"You may call me Castiel. I am not your master anymore. You've served me faithfully and your contract is complete."

Dean's shy smile faltered. He did not like being reminded of the ending of the contract. He was free to go practice his art alone and make commissioned works just like his beloved master now, but his heart could imagine no other home.

"Thank you, Master." Dean said. As they both realized that Dean had not taken advantage of the new privilege of calling Castiel by name, the two of them laughed together softly.

Dean added, "This might take some getting used to."

"Of course, yes of course." Castiel said.

They stood looking at each other long enough for Dean's mind to wander back to something he often thought when caught in Castiel's gaze; that of all the wonderful colors in the world, the deep, oceanic blue of his master's eyes would always be his favorite.

Finally Castiel spoke, breaking Dean's reverie, "I have another gift for you Dean. I had this made especially for you."

Castiel presented him with a lovely box, adorned across the front lid with carved and polished jade in the shape of an ouroboros, a dragon-like serpent eating its own tail. The alchemical symbol of infinity and renewal.

Dean gasped softly. "It's beautiful, Master."

Castiel smiled at Dean’s guileless humility, already satisfied with the box the gift was housed in. "There is more to it than that Dean. Open it."

Dean sat the box on a nearby end table, caressed the jade lid a moment. He opened the box and the fragrant scent of fresh cedar wood filled the air. Inside there were all manner of paintbrushes, of every size and shape imaginable. The brush heads were fixed to wooden tips as with any normal paintbrush but each of the tips was screwed into beautiful iridescent mother-of-pearl brush handles.

They were so perfectly stunning that Dean's mouth fell open with surprise. He tried to speak but could not form words. He looked at his beloved master in awe.

Castiel saved him the trouble of speaking next. "They are interchangeable. If any of the brushes wears out or gets damaged, you may replace them. The pearl handles, with some care, should last you a lifetime."

"Master! You are too kind! How can I accept such a gift?" It was the first time Dean had forgotten himself so completely in front of Castiel. He was overwhelmed.

Castiel laughed at him fondly. "Simple thanks will suffice." Castiel's eyes crinkled with amusement as he smiled.

Dean's eyes closed for a moment as he whispered the beautiful name out loud for the first time, "Thank you, Castiel." His voice was reverent as a prayer.

Castiel placed a hand upon Dean's shoulder reassuringly. Dean had dreamed of those beautiful manicured hands so many nights but never did he remember being touched by them before. Castiel's hand felt strong and warm, even through the thick fabric. Dean sighed and felt like his heart might burst from too much joy and grief intermingled.

"Well Dean, do you have plans? I will help you make them happen if I can. What is it that you truly want to do now?" Castiel had tried to make peace with the thought of his home without Dean in it, but dreaded the answer just the same.

Dean swallowed hard, seemed to hesitate. He took a deep breath and then looked Castiel in the eye and stated simply, "What I truly want is to stay here with you. I want to be here with you, and I want to keep painting with you."

It was now Castiel's turn to be stunned. His mind had considered every possible option Dean might suggest countless times, all except this one.

"Dean, you can go anywhere. My reference could grant you entry into any guild in the country. You could find a wife. You can make a home for yourself anywhere you like. I will help you. You have the freedom to do whatever you choose with your life. Freedom and free will are very important, and vital for an artist. You can stand on your own two feet now." Castiel cocked his head to the side, genuinely confused by Dean's unexpected response.

Dean said, "If I am to stand on my own two feet, I want to be standing with you." Castiel's surprise was betrayed by a sharp inhale.

"Do you really want me to leave you, Master?

Castiel shook his head even before the words escaped his mouth. "No Dean, I do not want you to leave." It was only then that Castiel noticed that he had never removed his hand from Dean's shoulder.

"May I ask you something else, Master?"

"Yes?" Castiel asked, reluctantly releasing his grip and letting his hand slide from Dean's shoulder.

"You never have the models stay with you overnight. Even the loveliest of the female nudes, they leave after the sitting is over. That is a rare level of restraint, if you'll forgive me for saying so. It’s been said that inequity is one of the perks of the art world, yet you don't seduce the models." Dean stopped, seeming to lose his nerve to say more.

"Yes I know. Speak freely. We are equals, remember?"

"Would you prefer a different sort of model? Perhaps someone more... like me?" Dean smiled hopefully then, and the sight was breathtaking.

Castiel was now sure what his newly graduated apprentice was implying. Castiel knew it was deemed odd that he had never taken a wife in spite of his ample income and comely features. Many a lady had tried to catch his eye only to be met with polite indifference.

Castiel's apparent chastity was one of the many reasons he was so popular with pious Church patrons, but that was all a sham. He had thought Dean was innocently unaware of the anomaly. He preferred male company, but even then he only became intimate with those he loved.

Castiel now understood that Dean saw everything with perfect clarity. There truly had been more than adoration in Dean's eyes, although Castiel had never dared hope that Dean would use his new-found freedom to ask to stay by his side.

Castiel needed no time to think about it. He simply said "Yes, Dean. I prefer a model exactly like you."

Dean slowly lifted his hand toward Castiel's face and delicately stroked the back of his forefinger down his cheek. It was such a simple, affectionate gesture, but it meant everything. It was the first time Dean had ever reached out to touch Castiel.

"You're right, Master. Castiel, I mean. It is important to choose freely. I choose to sit as your model... or stand, or recline. Any way you want me." Suddenly those guileless eyes burned with the suggestive nature of his words.

Castiel's eyes widened in awe. He cleared his throat before rasping out, "Yes. Yes, I must paint you Dean. We should start tonight."

Dean nodded slowly in agreement. "Tonight" he affirmed.

Castiel regained his composure, "Right, go and rest a while. Have some tea and collect your thoughts. I can have those new clothes freshened for you beforehand if you wish."

Dean stepped closer and lifted his hands to smooth his master's rumpled collar. He was now so close that Castiel could feel his breath against his lips. He reached down to grasp Castiel's hand which had always seemed so perfect, his touch unattainable. Dean lifted it to his lips and kissed Castiel tenderly above the knuckle, never breaking eye contact.

Dean released Castiel's hand and said, "No, I do not think I will need my clothes tonight. All these male nudes hanging in these halls and I still have not seen you paint one from life. The time is ripe for you to paint one more. Don't you think so, Master?"

Castiel nodded, dumbfounded. If anything had unexpectedly ripened, it was Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel had expected to be mourning the loss of his apprentice tonight, not setting up to paint the contours of his nude body. He must have painted hundreds of nudes in his life, but the thought of painting this one made his heart hammer in his chest.

"Soon I will return and set up extra candles for you, Master. I want you to have enough light to work your magic tonight." Dean reverently picked up the jade box and its priceless cargo and whisked himself away toward his room to prepare, leaving Castiel in breathless astonishment.

As Castiel waited he had a light dinner with a glass of wine to steady his nerves. He liked to begin certain nudes at twilight with candles set in strategic places so he could control the light.

If he had not been so successful he would not have been able to afford so many candles, but it gave his work an erotic glow that his wealthiest patrons always came back for. This was a luxury that clients affiliated with the Church were not offered; those commissioned pieces had no need for sensual lighting. It was reserved only for special works, like this one.

A few hours passed as Dean washed and carefully prepared. He even sparingly dipped into the variety of fragrant oils and powders the models used. By the time he was finished his skin was soft and radiant in the warm light.

He was feeling anxious and flustered and aroused with expectation. He could not believe how bold he had been with Castiel, but it felt good and he had not been refused. Dean was grateful the sun set early that time of year, so they would not have to wait very long.

Dean had some fruit and wine to muster his courage. No one had ever seen him nude before, not since he was a babe bathed by his mother. He could not imagine allowing anyone but Castiel the intimacy of painting him.

He discovered that he was rather excited by the prospect of feeling his master's eyes upon him. The thought of Castiel's gaze like a caress on his naked body made his cheeks feel warm and his breath flow quickly.

Castiel had never before asked him to model and Dean had never suggested it. Both were always afraid of crossing that line. Dean had feared rejection, Castiel had feared abusing the lad's trust. Castiel had no way of knowing how often Dean fantasized about being touched by his paint-stained hands, of being the one model he finally seduced.

Dean returned as promised, quietly setting up candles, placing them in safe spots near the sitting room couch, each with a wide metal holder to catch the wax even if they were allowed to burn out completely. Usually the last of the candles burning out was a sign that they had painted long enough for one evening, but Dean hoped to be in his master's arms long before then.

Dean wore only a blue silk robe with gold trim, tied loosely at the waist. The fabric left very little to the imagination, flowing and clinging as he moved about the room. The silk was so thin and fine that an observer could pick out the delicate bud of a nipple or the sloping curve of a thigh. Dean had not chosen it by accident.

When Castiel returned the room filled with the sensuous, expectant energy of a long-awaited wedding night. They made quick work of gathering supplies. They had painted together for so long that it all felt very natural. Castiel began to prep the canvas to calm his nerves and to keep from gawping at Dean in his shimmering robe. He wondered if the lad could actually hear his pounding heart.

"How do you want me tonight, Master?" Dean leaned against a wall, allowing his robe to reveal a strip of his smooth chest from neck to navel.

Castiel knew that Dean was asking about the pose but the suggestive phrasing sounded deliberate. He wondered for a moment if he might be dreaming all of this, but managed to gesture at the beautiful sofa in the middle of the room. "The piece I have planned might take a while, would you like to recline here? I want you to be comfortable."

"I would be comfortable with any position you would like." Dean took a few steps toward Castiel, feigning casualness.

Castiel realized that Dean must be saying suggestive things deliberately and was amused that the lad had turned out to be so bold. It was a pleasant surprise.

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel smiled warmly and it made Dean's stomach feel light and fluttery. Dean was happy that his novice attempts at flirting had not been rebuffed.

"You have a theme?" Dean gestured to the items on the table in front of the couch. "Will you tell me what you have planned, Cas... Castiel?" Dean was slowly becoming more comfortable with the informal name and relaxed boundaries of their new arrangement.

Castiel could not bring himself to admit that he had often imagined painting the young man as countless different mythic heroes, clad in scant gossamer tunics and gleaming armor, so he said, "I gave it a great deal of thought while we prepared, and I would like to paint you as Ganymede the Cup-bearer. That is why I've set up the wine goblets and grapes here at the table."

Dean looked again at the lovely faceted crystal wine flask, the silver goblets and the large bowl of grapes and it all made sense. "Ah, for a moment I thought I was to be your Dionysus." Dean smiled at his own mistake. Even though he had been well-schooled in mythology, the reference was somewhat obscure.

Castiel laughed and the mood of the room felt easier, lighter. "No, not tonight. Although I'm sure you would make a lovely Dionysus. I thought that Ganymede was a better fit for you."

"Is that because he was the servant of Zeus, as I serve you?" Dean asked.

Castiel was shocked to hear Dean assumed that he only thought of him as a servant. At first a favored pupil, some time later his closest friend, but never just a servant. Even from the very beginning Dean had always been so much more to Castiel than an errand boy.

"No, Dean." Castiel paused for a moment; seemed to look into Dean's soul. When he continued he spoke as if he was choosing every word carefully.

"I chose Ganymede because he was Zeus' beloved. Ganymede was not a mere servant, he was Zeus' lover. Cup-bearer of the Gods was a position of honor. It was Zeus' way of keeping him close because he loved him. They say that he was the most beautiful of all mortals, and Zeus gave him the gift of immortality because he could not bear the thought of parting with him. I think the story fits you perfectly, as I could not bear the thought of parting with you."

Dean seemed genuinely moved. Unshed tears gleamed in his eyes as he took in the deeper meaning of the myth the great artist had selected for him. Castiel had found a way to tell Dean everything that he had been feeling, everything that Dean needed to know as they moved their relationship forward. Dean walked toward Castiel and pulled him into a cautious embrace.

Castiel allowed his hands to slowly glide down to the curve of Dean's lower back as he pulled him close and held him, resting his head upon his shoulder. When Castiel pulled back he saw the inviting look in Dean's eyes and this emboldened him enough to press a gentle kiss against Dean's lips. They held that first kiss for a long time, savoring the thrill of finally touching each other and knowing it was what they both wanted.

Dean had never kissed anyone like this before. He parted his lips to allow Castiel's tongue to tease its way inside and melted against his master's strong body. He felt Castiel's hands glide farther down to caress the curve of his ass and gently grip him through the silk. Dean let out a soft moan of pleasure as Castiel trailed tender kisses down his throat.

Each press of gentle lips upon Dean's neck tingled and spread throughout his body, filling him with sensations like electric fire. He suddenly found it easy to imagine himself as young Ganymede, a mortal embraced by the god of lightning. He had dreamed of Castiel's touch for so long but the reality was so much better than he imagined. When they finally released their hold on each other they were breathless and flushed.

Dean grasped the loosely tied bow at his waist and tugged it free. The light, airy robe fluttered in waves to the floor. Castiel let out a stunned sound, not expecting this sudden reveal. To Dean the sound seemed to say that he'd been too bold, revealed too much too quickly and embarrassment completely overwhelmed him. His hands dropped to cover his erection and he looked down to shield his eyes from the shame of disappointing his master.

Mistaking his embarrassment for bashfulness, Castiel reached down to retrieve his robe and draped it over his shoulders, then reached out to cup his cheek and said, "Dean, you don't have to do this just to please me. You don't have to do this at all."

"I want to do it." Dean said as Castiel's smooth thumb stroked his cheekbone.

"Then what's wrong?"

"That sound you made. I thought I must have been too brash, or I must not be what you wanted me to be." Dean sounded so fragile. It made Castiel's heart break.

"No. No my sweet that's not true at all. You're the most beautiful person I've ever attempted to paint. I'll never be able to do you justice. An artist knows when he is outmatched. It was a moment of artistic angst, nothing more." Castiel looked into his eyes with somber sincerity and Dean saw that there was nothing but truth and kindness there. Dean sighed heavily, reassured but not fully recovered.

"I thought I offended you." Dean nodded downward toward his sizable erection which was still covered by his hands.

"Of course not Dean, that is perfectly natural." Castiel stroked his back, soothing him.

"The priests say its unnatural." The apprentice seemed on the verge of real tears.

Dean had finally revealed the reason he had not so much as hinted at his desire for Castiel for so long, he had been terrified that Castiel would cast him out as a sinner onto the streets if he so much as tried to touch him. Castiel had waited until this day to make sure the boy felt free to choose for himself, but Dean had pined quietly to avoid the calamity that rejection would have caused. This was why Dean watched so closely to see what kind of model might catch his master's eye, but since he had chosen none Dean could never really be sure.

"And what do they know about it Dean? What do they know about love? Most of the ones that speak against it are jealous and afraid of what they don't understand. They find the sacred in their piety and solitude, who is to say we ourselves can't find it through love? Who is to say love is not sacred too?"

Castiel had never before said anything against the Church, but his blue eyes burned with rebellion and anger at the pompous priests that made Dean fear for his soul for loving him.

Dean had never seen him angry, yet this was the reaction that finally broke through the young man's embarrassment and shame. Dean's fear passed away like a summer thunderstorm and his hands fell to a more natural position as he stopped trying to cover his arousal. He knew his master was right.

"Surely you must know I love you, Dean." The great artist added softly.

Warm, velvet-clad arms pulled him close and as his robe fell again to the floor Dean felt the delicious sensation of warm hands sliding over his naked skin; hands that were not greedy but comforting and sweetly intimate. Dean had been so afraid of rejection but Castiel held him like he was something appreciated and adored.

"I know you must be right about love. To me your love is the only sacred thing in this world." Dean felt a vast burden lifting from his shoulders as he whispered the words into Castiel's ear, free to speak the truth at last.

He felt warm kisses on his face again and soon he was kissing back with fervor. His erection felt so heavy as it pressed eagerly into the velvet of Castiel's garments, the delicate friction made him feel lightheaded and completely out of his element. Yet he soon felt a tugging in his heart that the painting itself was important and would come to have a deep meaning for them both. When their kisses finally fell to a more languid pace Dean paused a moment for breath.

"Would you still like to begin?" He asked, regaining what little composure he could find.

Castiel huffed out a laugh, smiled at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

"Yes. I would. I want to remember this day forever."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Smut with feelings coming up soon. Subscribe for chapter updates and comments are always welcome.


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